


taste the courage

by thunderylee



Category: Avenged Sevenfold, Good Charlotte
Genre: BDSM, Canon Universe, M/M, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-22
Updated: 2006-06-22
Packaged: 2019-02-08 01:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12853353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Only Benji can give Matt what he wants.





	taste the courage

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck.

He lies before you like a feast, spread out on the soft woolly rug as though its sole purpose is to contain him. Every inch of skin is visible to your wandering eyes; every tattoo gleams in the dim candlelight of the room. His wrists are bound together behind his head, and while you’re certain that he could escape from them without trying, you know that he won’t.

You could stand here all night and look at him. You’re tempted to do exactly that, but that’s not why he came here tonight; his restless stare reminds you. You could have blindfolded him as well, but you wanted to be able to see his eyes – those bright, hazel eyes that are the only downfall to his hardcore demeanor.

He’s as still as a corpse, although you can tell that he’s trembling with anticipation. His eyes betray him, like always. The shadows from the flickering candles dance in his irises, intensifying his silent plea. You cannot deny him any longer.

You drop to your knees and crawl towards him, keeping your eyes locked with his. His cock twitches as you approach, standing tall and proud without any previous stimulation. You eye it hungrily before remembering that if he just wanted a blowjob, he would have gone to his girlfriend.

Reluctantly, you bypass the enticing member in favor of his sculptured chest, dipping your face between his pectorals and trailing your tongue lightly down his stomach, which rises abruptly as his breath hitches in his throat. You run your hands up and down his sides, feeling the firm muscles and soft flesh beneath your fingertips. His skin is almost scorching to the touch.

The first time you bite, it’s not very hard. You know that he hasn’t done this sort of thing before; neither have you, but that’s neither here nor there. You want to start off small, as though testing his resistance. The chosen spot is on his lower abdomen, halfway between his right hip and the thin line of hair that paves the way from his belly button to his cock.

His reaction is almost orgasmic. You have to fight to keep from pressing your own erection into his leg as his entire body jumps at least an inch off the floor. A glance upwards tells you that he’s more into it than you expected; both of his hands are pulling harshly at his short hair, as though the only way to make it feel better is to make it hurt _more_.

You take the hint and bite harder, taking care to flick your tongue against the unaffected skin between your teeth. His face distorts into a twisted cacophony of emotions in violet, and he counters your action by biting his lip. Not a sound emerges from his lungs, however. That needs to be fixed.

“I want to hear you, Matthew,” you whisper in a low, sultry voice. “Tell me how I make you feel.”

He isn’t known for being quiet; half the time, you can’t get him to shut up. Being a vocalist, and a rather piercing one at that, you’re honestly surprised when the only thing you hear is a soft, strangled sigh.

Now you have a new goal. Before, this was all about him. He wanted you to make him _feel_ ; he wanted you to give him more than just another orgasm. Now you want to make him moan. You decide right then and there that your tryst will not be over until he is screaming louder than on any of his songs.

The thought makes you smirk.

You pull away from his abdomen, noticing the impressive imprint of your dental structure and feeling somewhat proud of yourself. That’s going to leave a bruise. Further resisting the urge to give your aching cock any friction, you lower your face to his thigh, kissing random patches of skin on the way.

His legs automatically part as your lips reach his inner thigh. All his glory is dangerously close to your right ear, but you force yourself to concentrate on the task at hand. This is a much better spot anyway; this won’t be visible at tomorrow night’s show.

A choked moan breaks the silence as you sink your teeth into the smooth flesh, and you suppose that’s progress. This time, though, you don’t let up; your mouth remains clamped tight, biting down harder and harder until you feel his skin break. That was the point, after all.

His blood tastes sweet and bitter, much like your own did whenever you rubbed your fingers raw during a show. Somehow this seems more sinister; enjoying the taste of someone else’s life shouldn’t feel this good, nor should the fact that you made him bleed in the first place. But it does. It’s enlightening, it’s gratifying, it’s enamoring – but most of all, it is powerful.

And it’s exactly what he wants.

His legs start to tremble as you detach your mouth to examine your work. Another elliptical indentation, but much darker than the one on his abdomen. A thin trickle of bright red blood seeps from the top left corner, and while it’s not bleeding freely, it’s enough to be tempting.

You lap it up without a second thought. He groans deeply when the tip of your tongue presses into the tiny wound, the low rumblings going straight to your cock and fueling your adrenaline. He doesn’t know how badly you want to hear it. You bite down again in the exact same spot, applying extra force on your top left incisor in an attempt to widen the cut. His hips buck up from the floor and into the air, almost knocking you off task.

He isn’t known for being patient, either.

Chuckling softly, you search for the wound with your tongue and swirl around it. His muscles spasm around your mouth; you use the palm of your hand to press firmly on the back of his thigh to give him some additional support. The spasms cease, but your endeavor causes his legs to spread completely and you’re faced with much more than just his cock.

And you want it all.

In due time, you tell yourself. You’re not a man of patience either, by any means, but this – _this_ – you want to make last. And it’s worth it already, because the high-pitched wail he makes when you dip your tongue into his wound again is enough to make you come. It takes almost all of your willpower, but you manage to keep your composure.

You’re sure that your lips are bloodstained as you abandon the abrasion in favor of ghosting your breath up his chest, neck, and finally his face. He looks up at you with wide, glossy eyes, his lips parted. His breathing quickens as you approach slowly, giving him the time to refuse your advances, but of course he doesn’t. Your lips press chastely to his; his tongue immediately darts through the gap to lick yours, and you know that he tastes his blood on your tongue. He wants to taste it.

You kiss him soulfully, your efforts reciprocated in full. You slide your hands up his chest and loop your arms around his under the pretense of checking his binds, but truthfully, you just want to be close to him. You lower your torso on top of him, noticing the thin layer of sweat coating his chest as it comes into contact with yours. Despite your attempt to keep your lower halves apart, your cock brushes against his for a fraction of a second and you can’t hold in your despondent groan.

He swallows your frustration and tilts his head to deepen the kiss, swirling his tongue around yours as though they were doing a complicated dance routine. You could kiss him all night. Your fingers find their way into his hair, running through the short, dark locks. He gasps and abruptly breaks your kiss by leaning his head back sharply, and you belatedly realize that was because you yanked on his hair with both hands.

You take advantage of his exposed neck to press your lips to his skin, dragging your tongue almost lazily in a curvy path from his ear to his throat. His Adam’s apple is jerking rapidly, alluring you to the point where you have to kiss it as well. Keeping a tight grip on his hair, you press your lips forcefully to the protrusion in his throat. He releases a sound that resembles a mixture between a choke and a moan; you smile.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding when your cocks touch again; this time, you think it was intentional on his part. He turns to look at you with a wicked glint in his eye, the corners of his pouty lips lifted into the smallest of smirks.

You retaliate by kissing him again, unceremoniously shoving your tongue into his mouth. He grunts and tries to raise his hips once more, but you see this coming and shift to the side. It almost blows your mind how you seem to have more control than he does.

He is known for his control.

_Please_ would be the last word you’d ever expect to hear from his lips, yet he mumbles it against your mouth. His voice is choked, small, and desperate.

You lean up on your elbows and look down into his eyes; his pertinent stare sends a chill down your spine.

“I can’t let you come yet,” you whisper, almost apologetically, breathing purposefully along his jaw line towards his ear. “Then the fun will be over.”

He whimpers pitifully as you outline the shell of his ear with your tongue. While he’s sufficiently distracted, you slowly reach around the pair of you for the closest lit candlestick.

His lips are right by your ear. You know this because he howls loud enough to possibly cause permanent damage when you tilt the candle over his chest. That’s more like it.

You avert your eyes between your sweat-slicked bodies to watch the hot wax melt onto his skin, creating a horizontal line from nipple to nipple. As you take one of the hardened buds into your mouth, you drip more of the wax in a vertical line to create a perfect cross in the center of his chest.

His breathing is staggered, his true vocals finally starting to shine through. The high pitch of his indulgence is like music to your ears as you kiss all four ends of the wax cross while muttering a familiar prayer: _In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost… Amen_ ; blessing him in the midst of your sin.

His cock digs into your stomach as you hover over his body, shaking with anxiety, and it takes all of your resolve not to take him into your mouth as you settle yourself between his legs.

His thighs are spread open as far as they will go, displaying his most intimate assets for you. You waste no time swirling your tongue around his hole, to which he seems to groan from his diaphragm and jerk his hips upwards in an unspoken plea for more, encouraging you to press inside.

A continuous string of moans and gasped obscenities flood out of his mouth as you rapidly flick your tongue in and out of him; you have to hold his hips down with both arms to keep him from having some sort of orgiastic seizure against your face.

“ _Benji_ ,” he growls, twisting his body as much as he can without the use of his arms or legs. “You need to fuck me right the fuck now.”

You grin around his hole and withdraw your tongue, wincing at his disappointed whine. You raise your head to softly lick the tight skin of his balls as you abandon one of his legs in favor of grabbing the tube of lubrication that you had so thoughtfully left right next to the rug. Distracting him once again with your tongue, you manage to coat two of your fingers with the slick substance and shove them straight inside him.

He likes it rough.

“Fuck!” he screams in his loud, raspy singing voice, rocking his lower half against your hand. You look up the length of his body to see that he has in fact struggled his way out of his binds, just like you knew he would, and one hand was viciously tugging on his hair while the other pinched his nipple. You’re sure that he wants to touch himself, but he doesn’t dare.

His cock appears painfully thick and erect at its full stature, a shiny drop of precome leaking from the head. You resist the urge to lick it as you lean back on your heels, extract your fingers, and say, “Turn over.”

He flips over on his hands and knees as though he’s been waiting his entire life for you to speak those words, and for all you know, he probably has. You plunge your fingers back inside him and crook them upwards, scissoring them in an attempt to brush against his sweet spot and cherishing every lascivious moan that comes out of his mouth when you do.

You kneel behind him, using your free hand to lube up your own aching cock before placing your palm securely on the small of his back to steady yourself. His body moves in time to your efforts; he screams your name when you remove your hand long enough to firmly smack his ass.

“You want it, baby?” you ask him in a low growl, smacking him again.

“ _Yes_ ,” he hisses, pushing back against your fingers full force.

You smirk as he writhes before you. “I want to fucking tear you apart.”

“Fucking do it then,” he replies, his voice full of authority while at the same time anxious and pleading.

In one swift motion, you replace your fingers with your cock and fill him with one thrust. It’s obviously not his first time, and you find yourself immensely jealous of whoever was here before you. You try to push those thoughts to the back of your mind as you tighten your grip on his hip with one hand while using all your strength to slap his ass with the other; the instant handprint in vibrant red brings forth a wave of guilt, and you softly caress the damaged skin to make it better.

He’s screaming now, just like you wanted. He’s screaming for you, for God, for a multitude of swear words as you pound into him, matching his vocals with your own harmonic gasps and groans. Maybe you should see if he wants to do a song together sometime. After.

Your spine seems to give out on you and sends you collapsing onto his back, where you embrace him tightly around the waist and use that as leverage to fuck him harder. He balances himself on one hand while the other grabs one of yours and forcefully pushes it down his stomach to his cock, and you allow him to wrap both sets of fingers around the stiffened flesh. He squeezes lightly before beginning to stroke, and you hear him emit an extended sigh of relief. You wish you could see his face.

You wave away his hand and pump his cock in time to your thrusts. There’s no way either of you are lasting very long; quite honestly, you’re surprised that both of you have made this far without spontaneously exploding.

You kiss the sweat on his muscular back as you reach the end of your strength. With a final thrust and a long groan of his name, you spill yourself inside of him and feel his cock pulse as he does the same in your hand. His arms immediately give out on him, sending you both crashing to the floor.

The only sounds you hear are your combined struggles for air as you roll off of him and feel the soft rug against your back. He remains on his stomach and says one word: “Ow.”

You are prepared for this, too. After using the last of your energy to sit up and retrieve the bottles and cotton balls you had left next to the lube, you slowly push him onto his back and go to work. You apply antibiotic ointment to the cut on his thigh and moisturizing oil to his chest, taking care to peel off every single piece of wax. He watches you with curious eyes but says nothing.

“Did I hurt you?” you ask sincerely.

He shakes his head and grins. “Nah.”

You can’t help but smile. He isn’t known for giving in.


End file.
